


"It's strange, Sherlock"

by boiled_potato



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24836719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boiled_potato/pseuds/boiled_potato
Summary: Sherlock and John, while investigating the robbery of an ancient text, meet a mysterious fan of their work.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	"It's strange, Sherlock"

London 2016,

It’s was a surprisingly bright and warm day. After a month-long cloudy backdrop with small but frequent spells of rain over the past few days, the warm glow of the rare sun was whole-heartedly welcomed by people relishing the opportunity to walk or bike to work wearing simple and colourful clothes for a change. The air over the city was boisterous, rich with indecorous honking, bells of cyclists and the slight but enchanting music of songbirds.

In the rather cramped apartment at 221-B Baker street however, the mood was rather fractured. The single window facing the street was open, being the sole source of light in the entire apartment. The residual smell of gunpowder in the air was slowly being overpowered by something distressing, as a bored Sherlock had suddenly decided to microwave human eyes to find an answer to a question absolutely no one had ever asked for. John was in the couch, his back towards the window, reading the paper, completely impervious to the nauseating smell of boiling flesh and the disturbing hissing from the microwave in the kitchen.

Without taking his eyes off the paper, he asked, “Did you read the papers today? There are reports of a strange man, running around town wearing red cloak and clothes from the previous century. Some witnesses say he has the power to vanish and reappear. Sounds right up your alley…any theories?

Sherlock responded, his eyes still lazily staring at the melted down eyeball he had just pulled out of the microwave, “Not Interested”.

John suddenly put his paper down and exclaimed “Oh you’re right, why would you be interested in that. Maybe you will be interested in the robbery of an ancient Sanskrit book in the town library.”

Sherlock looked up, considered it for half a second. He quickly then removed his goggles. “You know what? I am. Come on John.”

John pulled a face “You’ve got to be kidding. You are going to investigate a robbery? Of a bloody book from the 2nd century? 2 months of nothing and this is suddenly interesting to you is it?”. He pointed at the door “Yesterday you had a murder case with no murder weapon and no injuries, and you told Greg that it’s insulting he couldn’t ‘see’ this” John made hand-quotes in the air. 

Sherlock was already in his furry cloak and pulled the deerstalker over his head. Despite the hot weather, he had come to love his ‘detective-costume’. With the paparazzi always around to sneak pictures of him, he wanted to ensure all his photographs were with the same wardrobe. “Of course, it will be fun. You could update your blog. I’m sure your 2000 readers are desperate for some new content.

John stared at Sherlock for a few seconds. Then in a rather impulsive move, he threw the newspaper down and hopped up from the couch. “Yeah, I am going to title it, ‘Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock’. And you realise most of new cases come from the blog right. You should be more respectful.”

Sherlock was already out the door. “You can call it. ‘It’s elementary, My dear Watson.’ Because it always is. That way it could be true for once” he called out, skipping steps down the stairs. He stopped at the landing and turned and looked up at John, who was just at the door, stuffing the keys in his trouser pocket. “And, I have a website _._ ”

A couple of hours in the uncomfortable summer stop-start traffic later, the cab eventually dropped them at the library; a very tall building, around 12 stories recently renovated but painted to provide an aged ‘stone’ look. Sherlock stood in his suit, with his coat folded in his hand, He had taken his coat off in the cab as the air conditioning wasn’t working and the heat inside was unbearable. He turned to look at John, who was looking up the giant pillars that stood at either ends of the small flight of steps that lead to the door. The pillars went up around nearly 20 feet, supporting a super-structure, which hosted the name of the library in huge metal letters. He looked quite comfortable with the heat in his simple shirt.

The main entrance was once a huge heavy wooden door, which had been removed and replaced with a smaller but a modern door with sensors and hydraulic mechanisms. There was a panel of tinted glass surrounding the door, on which the words- Newport Library was stencilled on in white paint. As they approached, the doors opened automatically with a silent hiss of the hydraulics. Sherlock walked in with purpose, his eyes darting everywhere, noticing everything from the whiff of imitation lavender in the air, from the cheap disinfectant the maintenance staff had used in their last cleaning, to the crumbs of crackers on the shirt of the slightly overweight, uninterested receptionist sitting at her desk, to their far right. She was far more interested what was at her computer than the 2 newcomers who had just entered. Sherlock was equally uninterested and headed straight in, and soon found the scene of the robbery.

The scene wasn’t exactly cordoned off, there was a police ribbon blocking an aisle, in the 2nd floor. The aisles were bounded by tall shelves right in the middle of the enormous hall, each about 12 feet high. Large windows, with sliding glass windows over a protective iron grill, illuminated the whole hall. At the far end of the hall, after all the shelves were a series of desks, each with a small lamp and privacy dividers. There was only one person at the desks. He was pouring over a huge text, his head resting on his shoulder. Around him were many other equally fat books, some open, some stacked up. ‘ _Student. History or philosophy major’_ something at the back of Sherlock’s mind told him. He slipped into his jacket, to free his hands, bent under the police tape and walked slowly along the aisle, absorbing the details around him. There was clearly a fat book was missing from the top shelf. The space was rather obviously marked with a small tape and residue of white powder on the 2 books on either side, from where the police had dusted for prints. _‘Privately owned. Valuable. Sentimental?... Influential owner. Possibly pedantic. Who else would get the police to investigate this old, rather meaningless book’?_ Thoughts raced his mind.

John had followed him quietly to the second floor, but he had parted in a different aisle. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t be talking for a few minutes and preferred the scene all to himself. After about 3 minutes, Sherlock was still baffled. John, meanwhile, had managed to read the first page of a surprisingly interesting book written by someone called Arthur Conan Doyle, when he heard Sherlock.

Sherlock was thinking aloud, “Hmm, there is no trace of anyone stepping anywhere close to the shelf to take it. The roof of this building isn’t glass and you can’t get on top from the nearby buildings, because this is the tallest building in the block. The windows are far and low, so even a grappling hook or couldn’t have been shot to grab the book. The shelf is more than 8 feet from the ground. Without the use of a stepladder or a chair. That’s….” he trailed off.

John put the book away, making a mental note to get back to it before they left and walked over, looking around to see if Sherlock’s rather loud remark had been noticed by anyone. There was only 1 other person in the hall, a young teenager, dwelling in the giant reading area beyond the set of shelfs, their noses deep in the thick texts open in front of them. _‘Student. Poor sod. Has it hard’_ he thought. The library was unsurprisingly empty, with the few book-readers who still used the library, renting out books to read in the sun. John turned back to Sherlock and asked, “Could have used a stepladder or chair?”

Sherlock was his usual condescending self, “It’s elementary, my dear Watson. Do you see a ladder here? Or a chair? No, you don’t. The thief isn’t going to be responsible enough to put the chair so far away from the scene after stealing a book.”

John didn’t really argue. He was quite used to the tone. He was quite simply glad he had the more talkative persona of Sherlock today. That way he’d get more details to write on the blog. “So, why would anyone apparently disobey the laws of physics and steal a random book written in a very difficult and archaic language?” he asked, casually looking around the tall shelves.

Sherlock responded still in thought, still looking up at where the book once was “Yes…It’s Strange.”

A voice called out from behind them. “Someone called my name?”

The baker street boys abruptly turned around to see a man behind them, smiling slyly. He donned a thin goatee, a red cloak and his clothes seemed to be from the last century. He also looked suspiciously like Sherlock.

Sherlock was startled for a second but narrowed his eyes. He didn’t say anything. John stammered in surprise “Who…? You?.. You are the man in the papers… The one capable of vanishing apparently?”

The mysterious man casually replied, his hands at his back “Uhm, yes. Vanishing is one of the many things I do, apart from being quirky and saving the universe. And I must say, I am really a great fan of your adventures. Well, most of them. The one with the banker and the Chinese smuggling group wasn’t as interesting as I hoped it would be.” He had an american accent but one could hint a tad of british behind it.

John was still reeling from surprise, but he managed to get out a sentence “You’ve read my blog too?” Sherlock was still silent, staring at the newcomer.

The man replied, “No, I saw you on TV. I’m fascinated by your relationship, you know. I wish Wong was more like you John. He doesn’t seem to have your sense of humor”. 

Before John could blurt out a ‘Wait, what?’ Sherlock interjected. “Well, we get along well because I do all the work and John just stands there bewildered and writes a blog. Who are you again?” He cast a quick glance at John who didn’t even hear what Sherlock had said. He stood there shell-shocked.

The man responded, “I thought you would _see_ that yourself”

Sherlock was quick with his response. “Well I know you are highly educated and are filled up to your eyeballs in pride. That broken vintage watch you wear reminds you of someone dear you lost. Probably a gift. You also seem to have been in a major fight somewhere and severely injured your hand. They twitch constantly but you aren’t really bothered by it. You are used to it. Happened a while back. Nervous damage probably…”

The man just stood there and smiled. He seemed to be enjoying it.

“No, wait, Not a fight.” Sherlock continued “There are surgical marks. You have had rods implanted in your fingers. In both hands. No amount of fighting would sustain such damage unless you punched something heavy with both hands. That seems quite foolish, even you wouldn’t be that daft. Accident of some sort then. And of course, you seem to have mastered the art of fooling everyone with your so-called magic skills.”

The man chuckled a little and said “Brilliant. Right as always. I am a doctor, like John. Surgeon. I am Dr. Strange. Pleased to meet you Sherlock.” He didn’t extend a hand but nodded slightly.

Sherlock took a step back, assumed a more comfortable stance. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. The back of his brain told him there wasn’t a threat anymore. “With those hands? You weren’t a very good surgeon were, you?” he retorted.

“Oh no, I was a very good surgeon. Right until I crashed down a deep valley in a car and sort of ruined my hands.” He brought his twitching fingers up, palms inward. The surgical marks were extensive, and the implanted rods were very evident. “I then took up magic to save the world from the evil that befalls it.” He continued.

“Did you steal that story out of a comic book” Sherlock asked, with a sly smile of his own. The story had felt a bit over the top, but the man seemed to be telling the truth. Moreover, stranger things existed in the world as he had recently discovered. 

John finally spoke up. He glanced sideways toward Sherlock “Shut up Sherlock.” He turned to Dr Strange, “So, you are a part of the avengers then?”

“Well, not exactly” Dr Strange replied, “I focus on the more… mystical evil befalling the world, while they occasionally… drop cities to fight an evil AI they create” he shrugged.

Sherlock sighed, “Brilliantly uninteresting. Anyway, since it’s clear only you have stolen the book, I think my work here is done. Are you here to return what you stole, or do you want me to call Lestrade?”

“Oh, you can’t” Strange explained. He pointed all around, drawing their attention to the slight distortions forming a giant invisible sphere around them. “I have put us in a mirror dimension. Whatever happens here, stays here. As you can expect, I can’t risk myself attracting too much attention, unlike the rest of the avengers. I just wanted to see you in person, convey my deepest appreciation to you both and go back to… uhm saving the universe. And I need this book. More than any of you. This book hosts a secret of the universe so powerful, that your narrow-mindedness, Sherlock, simply cannot comprehend it.”

Before Sherlock could respond with an intelligent quip, he heard a crackle of electricity. A yellow oval opened behind Strange. He could see a different part of the world through it. ‘ _A portal_ ” he thought. Strange waved and hopped through. The crackles disappeared and the distortions disappeared, as the world around the bewildered boys turned back to normal. John and Sherlock stood there for a moment, staring at where Strange once was, still unsure. 

John finally spoke, “Are we going to pretend like that was normal?”

Sherlock took a moment and then started walking “No, we are going to pretend that never happened. And I need time to think. So, no more talking.” He walked out of the aisle, turning his jacket collars up.

John followed him out “Sure, you can think all you want. I got a lot to blog.”

Sherlock blurted out, half turning back “Don’t blog the unsolved ones!”

John said “People want to know you are human Sherlock. Besides, I got a good title too. Strange Sherlock.”

Sherlock replied without turning back, “That’s just a stupid title.”

They were out of the library and Sherlock decided to walk home. The cab ride with the stop-start traffic on their way to the library had been just unbearable. Not exactly a conducive environment for thinking. John followed him; a few steps behind.

John called out “Was it just me, or did he look almost exactly like you?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, stared forward as he walked. There was a moment of silence. 

“Twins?” John prodded?

Sherlock cried out “Oh for God’s sake John, it is never twins!”


End file.
